


Shelter

by RobNips



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Bandit tribes with culture, Bandits & Outlaws, Canon-Typical Violence, Family Drama, Hurt, Okay it's canon typical but graphic, Raven really goes through it, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 13:20:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19946815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobNips/pseuds/RobNips
Summary: To be accepted as Chief in the bandit-ruled Anima, Raven must prove her worth to her estranged Uncle and his tribe by her fifteenth winter. Raven and Qrow have only each other to prepare, protect, and find themselves as they come of age(Set in the same AU as It Isn't Me, the Enemy, but can be read as a standalone)





	1. Life Begins Well

**Author's Note:**

> I hope ya'll are proud, I actually have a plan for this fic! No promises on an update schedule though, I thank you in advance for your patience!  
> I've had a vague idea of this story since before I started It Isn't Me, The Enemy, but writing Raven throughout that process just made me want to actually write this more and more. If you are here because you liked Enemy, thank you so much! This is the same AU, but definitely more Raven-centric, and no Winter to be found, but I do still really hope you enjoy!  
> If you are completely new, welcome! And thank you for giving this a read! Please let me know what you think, and I appreciate any and all comments received! Enjoy!

“Life begins well. It begins enclosed, protected, all warm in the bosom of the house." **-Gaston Bachelard**

* * *

A single rider returned an hour after he was sent ahead. Raven stiffened on her horse, tired of the monotonous forest path that they had ridden for days since passing Lake Matsu. She wouldn’t mind a small pack of Grimm blocking their path, even if she could only just watch. Her father would have swatted her if he found out what she wanted, Raven was thankful for a countless number of times that Avani Branwen could not read her mind. 

Qrow, she was unsure of. When the scout their father sent out was heard galloping back around the corner to their small travelling party, Qrow immediately caught her eye from his own horse, and shook his head. There would be no excitement in the form of Grimm for them, his look told her. Somehow he always knew. Raven rolled her eyes. 

“Path is clear.” The rider, Nock, reported shortly to her father, horse falling in line with the rest of the Tribe’s caravan. 

Avani hummed, and gave a single nod of his strong chin. “No trouble?”

“No nothin’.” Nock scoffed, jerking his head above on the trail. “Couple of folks travelling to the mine, then empty all the way to Elbeuf.”

“Not even a toll stop? Outpost?” 

“None.”

The Chief paused, glanced to the sky, and sighed. “Fine.” Nock fell back into the rest of the caravan with a nod and no other words. Raven kept her eyes from following him. She must look strong, but she was also bored. Any movement was better than the endless woods, or Qrow, who kept his smug grin on his face just so she could see it. Raven couldn’t see why he was so happy about their journey coming to a boring end, he didn’t want to go in the first place. 

Not that she was excited for it, either. They had never met their uncle, the leader of the Falkes who stayed in the north, in their castle Elbeuf. Before she was even born, her father had united the major tribes of Anima under his family, after a series of wars everyone agrees were pointless. Now the bandits were on top, with a relatively peaceful alliance with Mistral on the eastern side of Anima. The Falkes were the first to join Avani Branwen’s cause, but retreated back to their own lands as soon as they could. The only Tribe that Raven’s ever known to stay in one place alone. The Falkes’ border with Mistral leaves them plenty of villages to raid whenever needed, and the Branwens strict hold on the rest of Anima keeps Mistral from ever seriously retaliating. “They’re not eager to look brave, but they are smart.” Her father said when Raven asked why they bothered offer alliance to the Falkes, if all they did was create tension with Mistral. “And they’re your family, whether you like it or not.” 

It was enough of an explanation for her at the time.

What loose traditions the tribes had was that a future chief must have their mother’s family’s approval by their 15th winter. In Raven’s case, that required the whole of the Falkes. Along with their real living relatives, a seemingly trickster of an uncle and even worse-off crazy great aunt. Their late mother’s Tribe would teach them new ways of leading, raiding, fighting, and surviving. Then test her in _Vinteren_. Any number of possible tests they’ll put her through, she’ll have to ready for any of them. All without the fallback of their father around, and ensure no favoritism. 

Pointless, in Raven’s opinion. A way for Avani Branwen to lead his Tribe without having to look after his own children, in Qrow’s. She wouldn’t give him much credit for the idea. He’s going to go through Vinteren too, whether he liked it or not. 

Raven had protested, and tried to reason with her father, then gone straight to arguing, and got nowhere. Qrow had given her a sympathetic look and not much else, he only avoided picking a fight when it came to their father, Raven didn’t know why she expected anything else this time. The boring journey it took to get to Elbeuf did nothing to ease her annoyance over the whole situation. 

Despite herself, when the castle came into view as the Branwens came over the hill, Raven was intrigued. Three towers stood tall at the corners of the castle, two to the east and one the west. From the outside, it looked like a sagging square, what would be the northwest tower at the back was collapsed, from long ago. When the Falkes chased whoever actually owned the castle out of it, and took it for themselves. Surrounding the front half of the castle was a half-circle lit camp, much more like what Raven was used to seeing in the Tribe. Tents scattered about randomly, some more permanent that others, fire pits scattered between tents. The typical wooden pike walls were replaced with broken down stone, and the sharp red Branwens use for tents was replaced with dark blue, or faded white. Raven felt her reservations ease, not that she would admit it. They were all still tribesman, she would excel here just as she did with her own. 

“There’s a lot of them.” Until Qrow spoke up. 

“More than us, that is sure.” Their father agreed, and kicked his horse forward. 

Their small party rode through the camp without trouble. Some Falkes watched silently, most ignored them completely. Smoking, or dealing, or talking amongst themselves. Uncle Kastrel met them at the gate of the castle, Raven found herself unimpressed. He was smaller than she thought, with cropped, honey colored hair and beard that stood out again his olive skin. With eyes that looked like soft amber. He had a large nose, it almost distracted Raven from noticing that he was muscular, if shorter than most. A scar that looked possibly from claws was barely seen from under the collar of his shirt, extending unseen down his right side. 

“Avani,” Raven didn’t notice she was staring with a hard frown until her uncle greeted her father in a flat voice. He had two tribesmen behind him, their weapons at their backs, not drawn. Kastrel looked from Avani, to Qrow, then to Raven. Judgingly, she noticed, and glanced to her father. 

He kept his frown, not breaking his strong posture from his horse. “Kastrel.” He greeted with a sigh. Raven shifted in her saddle. Her ease from the familiarity of a campsite faded. 

Kastrel clapped his hands together, grinning with his teeth. Raven flinched and scolded herself silently. “You don’t look nearly as old as everyone says you do.” 

Raven heard Avani scoff, though it might have been a sorry laugh. “I almost forgot where they get their wit from.” The Branwen referred to both his children but nodded to his son. Raven couldn’t see if he reacted or not. 

“Thank the gods someone did. Can’t imagine being around the humorless warrior all day and night.” Kastrel rolled his eyes, but his grin remained. He jerked his head back, towards the castle entrance. “Come on, bread and salt. Sure you’re all hungry.” 

Raven heard her father let out a breath - possibly annoyed - but dismounted his horse and followed. Raven and Qrow mirrored him, someone already taking the horses away. Avani did not look concerned, Raven mirrored him, but her hands strayed across the knife at her belt. Qrow studied the arches of the castle’s entrance. 

They ate as promised. The Great Hall spanned the width of the castle, four different doors in the back leading to who knows what in the rest of the castle. Raven stayed in her seat near the head of the table, though no one sat in it. Maybe her uncle was smart enough not to presume he belonged there in front of her father, or maybe he never sat at the head anyway. Raven watched him carefully either way. The Branwens with them ate as if nothing was different, loudly and eagerly. Conversations roared, cups were banged against tables as they were filled and promptly drained of northern ale. She tried not to listen to the stories swapped between the tribesman, instead of her father and uncle and their Seconds.

They seemed to speak about nothing. Grimm activity. The mine further into the forest. Game was plenty. The surrounding villages were more or less cooperative in giving Tribute. Mistral has yet to act whenever they raid villages across the border - if they even notice. 

Someone down the long dining table knocked over their ale, the glass splintering with their curse. Qrow slumped further into his seat. She stared, he tore at a piece of bread, jaw clenched. Raven almost kicked him until their uncle cleared his throat loudly.

“Fifteenth winter, then.” Kastrel was leaned far back in his chair, one hand at his cup on the table and the other holding his chin. Raven straightened her back, met his eyes and kept them. “Ready?”

“Been ready.” Raven shrugged, keeping her voice steady. She could barely see Qrow smirk from the corner of her eye. 

Kastrel seemed to mirror him. He leaned back, holding up his cup. “I’ll hold you to that.” 

Her father grunted from his chair, pushing away the beef. Dinner was over, no one would say otherwise, though there were glares sent his way. “As you should.” 

* * *

Avani waited until the door was latched to turn to his daughter. Raven swallowed the lump in her throat, her eyes welling in its place. Avani lowered himself to one knee, Raven let herself run to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and burying her head in the nape of his neck. 

“When I see you again,” he whispered, strong arms holding her close to his chest. Raven made sure to remember the feeling - so rare as it was already - for when she may need the guise of safety. “I might not have to not to kneel anymore to do this.” 

She huffed a strained laugh, the tease bringing a smile despite her tears. There were little things, little moments he allowed Raven, that let her know something that no one else did. Avani Branwen was not as heartless as he liked to appear. It made her feel like she was in on something private, special. The Tribe was her family, but love was something else. Something rarer, and not to be flaunted about without care. She didn’t know if he acted the same way around Qrow, she didn’t want to. It might ruin it. 

“It could be sooner.” Raven tried to reason, though had no hope it would work. 

“If there’s one thing I can’t fight the Falkes on, it’s what they’re owed by right. Learn from them. But,” her father whispered, and pulled back. Raven did not wipe her eyes, and neither did he. “Don’t be foolish. They are not Branwens. The ones who are, are not here to protect you. These people don’t respect me, and they don’t owe anything to you.”

Raven nodded, swallowing again as her stomach hardened to steel. She wouldn’t dismiss her father’s warning, their relationship with the Falkes was a feud in everything but words. No one would openly challenge the Branwens, but the Falkes have gotten away with cruelty most tribes see as unnecessary, just to show no one could stop them. 

“Your actions here are yours alone. I cannot protect you from mistakes. Your brother’s as well. Your bond is important. Even your semblance knows it.” He took her hands, squeezing as his palms dwarfed her’s. “But you need to know how far you’re willing to go for each other. As a chief, you need to be certain. Know when to put your people ahead of that.” 

Raven nodded again, a fast rhythm to assure herself more than her father. “Yes, Da,” she said. “I’ll know.” 

“Good.” Avani breathed a small sigh, touching their foreheads for only a moment before standing, towering over his daughter again. “I will see you again.” 

A promise not made lightly. Raven knew, it went both ways, assuring that both parties are expected to be strong enough to stay alive until they meet again. It was more of a goodbye than she expected. 

* * *

“Maybe the beef was poisoned.” 

Qrow mused annoyingly from his spot on the window, watching their father and the rest of the Branwens march away from the castle. Back south to display their strength somewhere else. Avani left them three of his men to stay behind, to witness and ensure what they came for was done, but the twins were on their own. 

Raven didn’t give in to the urge to watch them with her brother. His conspiracies on why their uncle seemed so hospitable made it easier to stay away. 

“If Kastrel was smart, he’d at least wait until they were truly gone to do that.” Though, Raven still gave into his games. 

“It’s a slow acting poison.” Qrow shrugged. “It could be the wine.” 

“We didn’t even have wine.”

“I did.” 

Raven blinked. “No you didn’t.”

Qrow nodded, shrugging a shoulder. “It was in my cup. I drank it. To _save_ you.” 

Raven eyed him, and turned back to her things with a shake of her head. No wonder he wouldn’t stop talking. There was no reason for their uncle to kill them, there’s nothing to gain but straight war with the Branwens. “I’m glad you’re taking this seriously.”

“I am taking this seriously. I’m trying to keep you from being poisoned.” Qrow’s drawl quickly turned into a laugh, blocking the sack Raven chucked at him. “You’re the one who said this whole summer was going to be wasted, why are you all worried about it now?” 

“I know you wouldn’t worry about it, your just a spare. No one cares what happens to you.” 

She regretted the words as she said them, her anger always took form in attacks. Qrow just scoffed. “Thanks, Rae.”

“I’m sorry,” she meant it, Qrow was the one person she needed to rely on. She waited until he looked back at her, know her to be genuine. “I’m just trying to not look like a fool.” Raven scoffed. “We don’t even know what they’ll give us for Vinteren.” 

“Lead a raid, or wipe out a nest, it’ll be fine.” Qrow rolled his eyes, doing nothing to reinstate Raven’s confidence, or forgive her. “And I am serious. Kastrel doesn’t exactly seem like someone to worry about.” 

Raven shook her head, digging her heel into the stone floor. She would have to get used to how solid it was. Dirt roads and grass fields proved difficult to fight in, but trained her to be ready for it. Now everything was different, everything was for nothing. And Qrow wasn’t giving a second thought to it. She blew out a breath, flipping her knife in her hand. 

She looked back to Qrow, their tribe long past the horizon to the south. “Just don’t be stupid.” 

* * *

The castle was not so much like a maze, though Qrow felt as if it were one. If it wasn’t in ruin, it was old just the same. The same faded gray stone lined every hall, of every room and every chamber. Sometimes there would be grand wooden posts lining the walls for support - though Qrow didn’t see how much good that would do against crumbling stone, when the time came. All things crumble, best not to put that much effort into something like a castle.

The outlay had him turned around for the first week. His only guide was the Great Hall, right by the entrance, or the back wall that leads down to stables and miles of forest. His room was in the back east tower, facing the same wood, with the mining town just barely visible beyond the thick pines. 

And it was much too empty. 

Him and Raven hadn’t shared a tent in years. They weren’t officially grown, but old enough to need their own spaces. Strong enough to be on their own, find their own rhythm in training, learn not to rely on each other all the time in a fight. Whatever it was that caused the odd things to happen around him only pushed Qrow to learn on his own even more. Him and Raven were lethal together, and as she grew gained more control over her portals they were getting close to being unstoppable, but he wasn’t a stranger to isolation anymore. Doesn’t mean, however, he liked being in a solid room with solid walls and a door that locked from both inside and out. 

So he tended to stay away from it. He took meals himself and filling the first few days with trying to get a grip on the layout of this palace. So far he had a route from his tower, to the kitchens, to the back exit, and back his tower. He’d seen Raven more than anyone else - she always knew how to find him, whether he liked it or not. These days she’s been holed up with their uncle or one of his crew, training for her trial. His father’s men made their own way after their Chief left, they weren’t here for the twins benefit anyway. Qrow was left alone. 

Which made finding a hidden chamber the most interesting thing to happen in weeks. 

A hole in the wall on the second story of the castle that was covered by the Falkes’ hideous blue symbol on a flag. Qrow noticed it only because the light hit it in a way that made the color more faded in some spots over others. He pushed aside the flag, the opening small, but enough for Qrow to squeeze into. 

A narrow hall that quickly fell pitch black. Qrow kept a hand on the dusty wall, feeling brick turn to rugged stone as he moved forward. The path narrowed further, and shrunk, until he was on his hands and knees, blindly crawling his way through the dark. 

He shooed away spiders, or tried to. They, and other creatures in the dirt and rock, were in nearly every inch of the tunnel. Once Qrow felt one, his skin was crawling as if they never left. Mapping his skin, hitching a ride, either thought was unnerving. 

Qrow tried to keep his breath even and calm, though got more dust than breathable air. The last thing he needed was his semblance - or curse, or burden, he hasn’t decided yet - to spark and end up with the whole tunnel crumbling down. That or have it lead to Grimm, dormant for years in the caves under Elbeuf from the mine, waiting for an absolute fool like him to fall right where they want him. 

Instead, rounding a corner, he found candlelight. 

The tunnel opened to a room with a low ceiling, lit by candles lining rows of shelves, one of which hid the tunnel. While Qrow took advantage of the open air, he was certainly convinced the library he found wasn’t worth the journey. If anything, he only got himself more turned around. 

Still, he was here. The library was the same boring stone, shelves lining the walls that lead to a fireplace. A few beaten up desks in front of the fire. Qrow cocked his head at the shelves, lines of books as old as him and older. The only ones that looked less than five years old were all piled together at the end. He hummed, which turned into a shout when something pelted the back of his head. 

“Out!” An old voice roared, Qrow scrambled backwards, tripping over the book that hit him. An older woman towered over him, long gray hair with honey ends pulled back, wrinkles like leather on her face and a dress than might as well have been a sack. She held another book in her hand, waving it like one about to throw a brick. “The one place I thought you’d never come, and here you are! Out!”

“I didn’t do anything!” He tried to reason, crawling backwards on his hands towards the step, the small door he thought to lead out of here. Away from a crazed woman. 

“Not yet.” She reared her arm back, shaking as she threw the next work at him. 

Qrow let it bounce off his arm, more embarrassed he was being chased away than that had to pull at his aura to protect him from bruises. Before he could stand, she had another volume in her hands, not hesitated to pelt him again. She rushed up to him, Qrow instinctively wrapped a hand around her wrist, her fist quickly turning into a point. “I did nothing.” 

“You think coming into my home is nothing? With the rest of the monsters?” She spat, just missing his ear to land wetly behind him. 

Qrow kept a grip on her thin wrist, handling her to step backwards. His anger grew without him realizing, the heat in his chest pushing words from his throat. “It your pointless Vinteren I’m here for.”

She sneered. “Oh, a Branwen thinks he’s good enough to scoff at tradition.” The old woman huffed. “You’re here as a spare for the girl, and nothing more.” 

The slap to his ear stung, enough to make it ring just enough to be noticeable. The heat in his chest reached up his ears, his shove at the woman making her fly backwards, falling hard to the ground. Qrow kept his fists at his sides, regret at his stupidity replacing his anger at the disrespect. An old woman was not a threat, and strength should be blinded by anger so easily. 

His shame was quickly replaced when the woman started huffing a laugh. Small chuckles that turned into cackles. Qrow blinked, shifting in his spot as she pushed herself up to her elbows. “There it is,” she laughed, nodding to herself. She pushed herself to her hands and knees, rubbing at the shoulder that padded her landing on the stone floor. “Just makin’ sure you’re not completely hopeless.” 

“What?” 

His snarl just made her cackle again. “I couldn’t just let the son of my own niece let an old hag push him around, but you’re not as much of a lost cause as I thought.” 

She pushed herself up to her shaky feet as Qrow’s head spun. “You’re Lessa Falke?”

“Maybe not a smart cause,” his great aunt shook her head. “Good we start here, then.” She wasted no time hobbling through the first shelf, tossing a book to land on Qrow’s chest, into his arms. “Your Da’ has been nothing but a bastard that spits in the face of who you are, or supposed to be.” Another book was tossed to him before Qrow could get a word out, Lessa quickly created a pile in his arms. “Takin’ a babe - two of ‘em - from his mother’s people. No one says a word. Now I have to do everything.” 

“Wait,” the woman had taken to muttering to herself, Qrow pacing behind her through the shelves. His ear still stung, and her rambling was still processing in his mind. “Qhoren died, I’m a Branwen.”

“Only because there are no others left. And gods forbid Avani let his name fall out of memory. Qhoren choked on her own lung, you two were taken, and it took Vinteren to get you back.” 

Qrow’s heart skipped. She wasn’t entirely wrong. A child belonged to their mother, over everything else. If she kept them. They would have her name, her protection, her family if she was gone. If there was a family willing to accept them. Their father always told Qrow and Raven they belonged with him, would be better trained and better suited to lead the Branwens with dignity rather than be second to their uncle under the Falkes. 

Didn’t stop Qrow from ever wondering if they’d take him anyway. 

“Doesn’t matter.” He dropped the books on a desk, the wood creaking under the force. 

“No, you lot are very keen on forgetting the past.” Lessa rolled her eyes. She stopped in her tracks, rounding the desk to leer at Qrow. “Your sister certainly doesn’t give two shits, which she shouldn’t. She needs to look after your own people, but you need to do everything else if you want to stay. You know you need more than killing. How to make alignments, break them, know the land, know the people, to read a map. Hell, to read.” 

“I know how to read.”

“Better than everyone else?” She shoved the books towards him again, Qrow shook his head. The castle had interested him, the Falkes as well. A Tribe shouldn’t last long in one place, and yet they did. He didn’t stop thinking about it, either because it was just that boring here, or that he had already thought about what she said, where he belonged. “I know you want more than the killing, too.” 

Qrow gritted his teeth, taking a step away from her. “You don’t know that.” 

“Pfft,” Lessa shook her head. “Sure. That’s why you let an old woman bang you up before doing anything for yourself.” 

Qrow felt as if his heart was being squeezed, he couldn’t stop looking at the door out. He would be a fool for choosing an old woman over anyone who could still hold a sword. His father would sooner drown him than find this out. 

Yet, it wasn’t like Qrow passing his trial mattered or not. Raven was the one this was for, she was already doubting him passing at all. Their future as leaders, of their tribe, of themselves, it all really depended on her. He’d always be her burden, if not her enemy, if he couldn’t carry his own weight. 

If Qrow was going to be dragged along, he could at least make sure he knew his shit. 

He let out a groan, and fell into a chair. The old woman grinned with all teeth over him. 

* * *

Raven blew out a long breath, her form still too stiff. Her uncle had made it clear not to stray too far from the castle, but she managed to find a spot alone. Useful for practicing, no one could advise her how to handle her own semblance. Raven adjusted her grip on her handle. A knife isn’t the best conduit for aura, but it was better than nothing. 

Her semblance was...a different feeling. Walking through her portals was nothing, the same as walking through any door. But opening them? Holding them open? Sometimes it felt like she was tearing through stone, ripping a whole through the world. The first portal was an accident, her semblance revealing itself before she even realized it, but now it was hard to replicate. 

It had become easier, though still took focus. It didn't matter how far away whoever she was portaling to was, the struggle was the same. Qrow seemed to come naturally, being her first. She didn't use her father's often. Vernal's was between them, Raven intended to keep it that way. The other girl didn't need that kind of attention, and maybe Raven wasn't ready to admit why the bond was made in the first place. They didn't say goodbye to each other, for now it was better this way. Others in the tribe had tried to help her, given her ways to meditate on her semblance, train it like a muscle. Here, surrounded by strangers, Raven was on her own. Even Qrow had practically disappeared after the first night.

Raven adjusted her stance, feet planted firmly in the dirt, perfectly balanced. Her aura surged, the familiar crimson filling her veins, a solid presence in her bones for strength, a crackling under her skin for a shield. She focused the energy on her goal, arching the swing of her knife in one smooth motion. Raven heard her heart pound in her chest, and opened her eyes to see the red vortex open, and steady, in front of her. 

A low whistle from behind her made Raven flinch, the portal swirling closed. 

She spun on her heel to see her Uncle leaning calmly against a tree while twirling the cigarette between his fingers. “Never seen something like that.” He cocked his head to the side, Raven tightened her grip on her knife. “Where does that go?”

“No one.” She answered too quickly. 

“No one, huh?” Kastrel smiled his crooked smile. “Not anywhere then?” He held a hand up and chuckled when Raven opened her mouth. “Easy, girl. Your semblance is your business, I can understand that. Just be sure to pay attention.”

“I was focused.” She argued. 

“That’s for sure. But vulnerable.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Not something you want when in the middle of a raid.” 

“I’ve been in one before.” Raven kept a handle on her tone. She would not sound like a child, crying for respect, what she said was true. 

“And you’ll have to lead one, soon.” Kastrel pushed himself off from the tree, pointing a finger at her. “And not run to whoever’s on the other end of that. Especially if it’s your brother.” 

His addition made Raven blink, and shook her head. He had to be watching them, as was his duty, but it still made her feel off. “That’s not true.” If nothing else, Qrow has always been with her. He knew when to pick his battles, but he wasn’t a coward. There wasn’t anyone else she’d rather have at her back. 

“Alright,” Kas held up his hands. “Just noticed he’s been hiding in shadows rather than training with you.” 

Raven kept quiet, having nothing to defend her brother with. He’s always been broody, too, Raven had thought he’s been making himself scarce to not cause any trouble. But she couldn’t deny his resistance to the whole tradition of Vinteren, why they were here at all. 

“But I know I don’t know you two well.” Kastrel sighed. “Maybe it doesn’t matter. You do need to know these things. And I’ll show you.” He nodded to the way back to the castle. “Right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, I do have a relatively solid plan for this, but no promises on a release schedule. Comments are always incredible motivation, so please let me know what you think, and thanks again for reading!


	2. Lightning Rod

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, there is a very not-pretty description of burns near the end of the chapter, just a heads up

“The best lightning rod for your protection is your own spine.” **―** **Ralph Waldo Emerson**

* * *

“No more.” 

Raven horse stamped its hoof into the dirt and huffed, as if he knew how ridiculous the mayor’s demands were. Raven shifted as well, looking to Kastrel to find a smile on his face. Her uncle looked relaxed, amused even. With his Tribe behind him, he didn’t even blink when the mayor demanded less tribute be required, as Kastrel had not protected their town against Grimm for the last three times requested. A handful of other stood behind the mayor, armed with simple weapons or farm equipment. Their treaty was broken, and they were willing to fight. The mayor stood strong, shoulders back, and tightened his grip on the spear in his hand. 

“No more?” Kastrel repeated as if he were talking to a child. "You've given us nothing."

“Our fields are gone. Destroyed by Grimm.” The mayor’s voice shook now. Raven thought he might be catching on, but the man went on anyway. “We aren’t protected from them. Almost a third of our people have gone to the mines, there’s no way we can keep up with your demands without starving ourselves.” 

Kastrel hummed, and leaned back as if he were thinking. The low sun set the sky on fire, Raven saw it made his eyes look yellow. Kastrel nodded to himself, and shrugged. “Sounds less like we can’t hold our agreement and more like you can’t control your own people.” 

“We’ve worked to try-“

“And got nothing to show for it.” He sighed, disappointed. He flicked his head to his second, who had already knocked an arrow. She nodded once, and with a flick of her hand the head was on fire, another second and it was loosed, soaring high before sinking into a roof of a home. The fire spread quickly, and so did Kastrel's men. The Chief could barely be heard over the riders rushing the town. screams spread quickly, the sounds of steel too. “You’re of no use, but I’ll take what I can find.” 

Raven kept her horse in place, Qrow did as well, and watched as she was told. The mayor stood by, mouth agape and stupid looking as Falkes swept through his town without hesitation. Some of his people ran, others who tried to fight did not last more than a second. Out of the corner of her eye Raven saw Qrow look down at his saddle, glancing through his lashes up back to the town. She almost pinched him, they’ve done this before with their father and he still acts like a child. Though, Avani never would have made such a show about it.

“ ‘Shocked’ doesn’t suit you.” Kastrel’s voice pulled her attention back to him, along with the mayor’s, away from his burning home. The mayor seemed to pull himself together, Raven watched his face grow red as he brought up the spear. He let out a pained yell as he charged at Kastrel. Qrow lifted his head and tightened his reins, Raven reached for the blade at her belt, Kastrel’s smile grew. 

He ducked from the spear’s path, grabbing below the point and jerked it back into the mayor’s chest. He let out a wheeze. Kastrel grabbed his sword with one hand, the other used its grip on the spear to pull the man forward, and plunged the sword into his chest. 

Raven’s horse shook its head and backed away, she felt stupid scrambling for reins, forcing it still. The mayor had fallen forward when Kastrel took his sword back, his blood reflected the town on fire. Raven suddenly felt very hot. 

“Go on back.” Her uncle nodded to the path, back towards Elbeuf. “Stay together. Grimm will be here soon. I’ll find something nice for you.” He gave them a smile, all warmth, and kicked his horse forward. 

Raven didn’t return his smile, nor Qrow beside her. The fire was growing hotter as it spread to be around them, her face started to burn. She looked to Qrow, who kept his eyes on her in return, and they both tugged at their reins, back into the woods. As they rode away from the fire, the path seemed darker than before, the sun sinking away and letting cold spread through the woods. Qrow stayed quiet, face neutral, infuriatingly so. 

“Are you always going to be like this?” She blurted the question before thinking. Qrow blinked, looking to her with furrowed brows. Raven was suddenly very away of any holes in the path her horse could trip into, but softened her tone. “You can’t be scared if you’re my second.” 

“I’m not scared of that.” Qrow said, none of the anger in his voice as she expected. He swallowed, kicking his horse to hurry. “You shouldn’t worry about what I’ll do.” 

Raven sighed, but didn’t find it in herself to argue. Qrow has a spine, she knew it. He passed his Trials before, like her and everyone else. Just needs some push, or something. What their father sent them here for. When it’s their time, she’ll trust her brother. She’ll have to. 

* * *

The bullet just skimmed the edge of the Beowolf’s backbone. It howled and thrashed around, looking for its attacker, but seeing nothing but the rest of its pack. “Shit,” Raven looked from the scope, smoke still swirling from the rifle. Qrow shrugged a shoulder, kicking his feet off the edge of the wall, the only thing left standing in the burned village. 

Smoke still lingered above the village long after everyone had gone, all the people who used to live here and children the tribes send in to scavenge for leftovers. Qrow can remember the scents perfectly, the touch of metal still hot from battle, the clinking of coins and jewelry and anything else they’d loot from bodies. Scavenging was something every child did, it was a way to still be useful when you’re too little to fight. Taking count of everything found was the next job, then learning to hunt, and fight, and fend off Grimm, and be ready for the real thing. 

Raven, this morning, had a lack of faith in the Falke kids sent to scavenge, leading them to a rare leftover rifle, and poking at the nest west of the castle. 

“That was better than last time.” Qrow said, unsure of what else he could without pissing her off while she had a gun in her hand. Raven only grunted, reloading the rifle. 

Qrow leaned back on his hands, quickly sliding to lay on his back, viewing the village from upside down. The Falkes seem to find a reason to destroy villages every chance they could, this was the third one the twins had watched fall since they’ve been here. Qrow could just see the main gate of this one, the three bodies still swinging from where they hung over the arch. A warning for others thinking they could stand against the tribes over them. Qrow sat back up. 

“They keep going the wrong way.” Raven chewed her lip, watching the pack as well as she could through the scope. She sighed, moving to try and scrub the blood from the eye. 

“You don’t want them to come back here.” He sighed, his meager sword lying beside them. 

“They’re too stupid to know its us anyway.” Raven shrugged. “I at least want to pick off one.” 

“You are a lousy shot. Keep getting pissy, they’ll come closer.” Qrow rolled his eyes. Her elbow met his stomach, he coughed. “Now you’re just being rude.” 

Raven cocked the hammer, jerking back as she fired. “It worked.” Qrow looked up to see the pack for off into the woods. From where they were he could see vague shapes, but black enough to only be Grimm. The Beowolves scattered, one dissolving quickly among the leaves. He hummed, held out a hand. 

Raven passed the gun, he adjusted the scope. Qrow didn’t blame her for pissing so much, the blood in the glass was covering nearly half the sight. He found the pack, scattering closer to them in the woods. “We should get out of here.” He sighed, not letting himself worry about it. He counted the beowolves he could see, four or five left, and the lumbering ursa coming over a hill to join them. “Really.”

“Fine,” Raven sighed, swinging her legs to scoot to the other side of the wall, sliding down back into the street. Qrow followed, landing hard on the stone path. He strayed behind her, swinging their newfound rifle over his shoulder, he kept his eyes from the bodies still littering the streets. “Have you talked to Kastrel?”

He almost rolled his eyes. “No, haven’t seen him since this morning.” Hungover, by the looks of it, any tribe anywhere always celebrated after a raid. Lessa’s been keeping him busy, away from everyone, pelting books and scrolls and parchment at him every few days. Kastrel only spoke with him over meals, when everyone was loud enough around them that Qrow felt what he said didn’t really matter anyway. “Why?” 

Raven hummed, trailing in front of him. “Nothing really, he just said he had something for me, then avoided me.” 

“Was he drunk?” 

“No, I don’t think so. It was a few days ago.” She shrugged. “Has he trained with you?” 

“Not really,” Qrow sighed, knowing the questioning was coming from her more..paranoid tendencies. She had to know everything going on, why it was going on, and if it mattered. He was lucky that she considered what he learned from Lessa boring - even if it was useful - he’d rather avoid going into details about how many books their aunt throws at him. “Once or twice, just shooting stuff, really.” 

“Okay,” she nodded, Qrow let her analyze it as much as she pleased. He’s only here for when she gets too far into her own head. He kept pace with her, shoving his hands in his pockets and making sure to watch for any beowolves they may have drawn out here. 

“It doesn’t matter. He’s probably busy.” 

“I know.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “None of them seem that concerned about us.” 

“I’m sure none of them care.” He was vaguely certain that the Branwens wouldn’t spare a second glance at another few kids running around, even if they were sticking to the Chief. Vinteren might be quite a celebration, whether they passed or not, it was an excuse to go wild in the middle of winter, but the tribesmen themselves, they couldn’t care less about. 

Qrow was fine with being overlooked, it wasn’t too different from their family at any other time. Raven was just adjusting to it, and it was certainly interesting to watch. 

At the very least, it meant none of the others noticed when things started to go wrong. 

* * *

Redsteel seems to radiate in darkness, something fakes could never get right. The real, authentic redsteel had a slight glimmer when you look at it at the right angle, reflecting light that’s not there. Raven half expected it to make a sound when it moved, no matter how childish it would seem. 

Despite lacking that feature, she couldn’t stop staring at the hunks of redsteel her father had left her in the Falkes’ armoury. The chunks had the pungent smell of something freshly mined, like unstable dust that hummed with energy, or recently cooled magma. When she first laid eyes on them, she doused the fires of the dark forge, mesmerized by the glow. There was enough for the odachi of her dreams no doubt, and not much beyond that, and she couldn’t remember another time she felt so giddy. 

The challenge of forging was half the source of her excitement. There was a difference between a parent gifting their child a weapon, and forging it themselves. Some heirlooms were accepted among the Tribes, her father’s own battle axe was his father’s before him. Oftentimes tribesmen didn’t have the resources to create their own weapon - but someone of Raven’s position? It would seem more than incompetent of her not to make her own, a statement of herself and of her strength. Along with indulging her childhood vision of wielding one, it wouldn’t hurt to come into Vinteren with an indestructible redsteel blade.

“Avani Branwen left a child a hunk of redsteel.” The Falke smith they called Lorac rolled his eyes when he saw the wonder in her’s. 

“A child who’s your next chief.” Raven shot back, though she would regret the outburst. A real chief need to shout about it. 

Lorac’s false look of surprise and mocking bow did nothing to ease her, either. “Well, my apologies. Let me bend over to kiss your boots.” He laughed, loud and from his belly, but tuned back to sharpening the axe at his table rather than continue his mockery. “If you can finish a blade like that before your Vinteren, then maybe I might start thinking all this faff is worth something.” 

“I’ve forged a blade before.” Raven reasoned. None that she’s actually used, but still.

“Treat redsteel like any other blade, and you’ll waste one of the rarest metals on this planet.” Lorac leaned back in his chair, waving the whetstone at her. Raven heard the lecture before it even began, slumping where she knelt in front of her steel. “I let you down here because my chief told me to, and now if you go out wavering some unbalanced, dull-edged, amateur piece of shit now that’s on me. And let me tell you right now, that will _not_ happen in this forge.” 

Raven rolled her eyes. “Not to mention having a useless weapon.” 

“Then it’d be wise of you to listen to someone who knows what they’re doing.” Lorac shrugged, a smirk on his face that had Raven struggling not to deepen her scowl. 

It was only until winter ended, she reminded herself - trying hard not to think about how summer was still in full effect. But winter always came, and with this one, her Vinteren trial, and she’d be free to do whatever she wanted. Be an adult in her own right. A few months being dismissed for the rest of her life on top, she could handle it. 

If she would come out of with a redsteel blade, it was just that much more worth it. 

* * *

Qrow blew the grass that was tossed at him off of his face, squinting one eye open to see nothing but the sun beaming over him. He settled back into the grass, still exhausted from his and Raven’s match from earlier. Summer was nearing an end, Kastrel decided to have them go a few rounds with each other while he had the chance. With one string of cold days came another of heated ones, probably the last. Other dark winters had taught Qrow to relish the sun while he could. It was an easy thing to miss. And after his last loss had his shoulder aching, he took the opportunity to rest. 

More grass hit his face, this time with dirt mixed in. Qrow spat out the specks, rolling over to see Raven beneath a tree, long blade of green dust in one hand and specialized whetstone in the other. 

“Asleep?” She asked him with a smirk. Qrow rolled his eyes, turning to the river rushing beside them. Kastrel left them to their own devices, Raven decided to stay and soak in the sun - and her win in the last match - as much as she could. 

“Tryin’ to be.” Qrow huffed. “You know you’re tired too. I almost had you.” A few good strikes had him at an advantage, until Raven had deadlegged and pinned him. He was a better shot, but she was the better sword wielder, especially with her new blade. 

“Right,” Raven scoffed a laugh from her spot under the only willow at the lakeside. She was almost hidden, though Qrow knows she saw the glare directed at her. She knows he’s out of practice, and was ruthless anyway. As she should be, but still, was unnecessary, in his opinion. She laid the green blade along with the four others surrounding her. Two blue - easily obtainable water dust. The one, shining yellow - lightning, unstable, but manageable if rightly cared for. No doubt a gift from Kas, just as Qrow had received one from the Falkes’ last raid as well. 

The last blade was solid redstone. Nearly unbreakable, sharp enough to slice through bodies, if one was skilled enough. She carried it everywhere now. As if she were grown, or earned it somehow. In a way Raven did earn her blade, though that didn’t stop him from being annoyed at the sight of it. 

Qrow would not admit, out loud, to jealousy. His own weapon had yet to make progress from sketches. The steel was sitting in armoury for him, the prospect of a well crafted sword was tempting, but Qrow still found himself tracing scythes into the dirt. The image of the Grimm Reaper older members had told stories about, the woman armed with a sickle and a skull mask that turns Nevermores into stone - legends, they say, none of it to be believed, only children hold onto things like that - stayed in his mind for years. If he could ever figure out how to make one that was practical in any way, he would take the chance. For now, he’s been pocketing gears whenever he could. 

Qrow felt a push at the base of his spine, like leaning back on a pillow. A chill followed. His blood rushed past his ears, the feeling familiar. Raven gasped. Short and surprised, a way that made Qrow turn his head to her. The panic rose just as quickly. 

Smoke curled up from her, a short burst that disappeared in the wind shortly after rising. Raven held her one arm to her chest, fingers curled loosely around whetstone that was charred. The other held her lightning blade - now partly used, the cause of the smoke - shook as red burns sprouted across her pale skin. 

Raven flushed, her mouth slightly open as she stared at her shaking hand. Red burns spread from her fingers almost up to her elbows at first, irritating the skin from a shock of the dust at best. Brown circles bubbled across her fingers, speckling her arms with boils - some splitting open to ooze out something yellow that made Qrow’s stomach turn. And pushed him to move from his frozen state in the grass. 

* * *

Raven shuddered out a breath as he slid in to his knees next to her. “Qrow-“

“What did you do?” She felt him grab her shoulders. Raven’s hands shook and dropped the whetstone and what was left of the blade harmlessly to the grass. 

“I thought I grabbed my redsteel.” Her tongue felt swollen, the words hard to push out. Pus mixed with blood and ran down her burned arm, dripping to the grass from the popping blisters. Qrow made a sound from beside her, looking around wildly. 

“C’mon.” He jerked her up by the shoulders, Raven’s legs wobbled as they struggled to get beneath her. Her fingers wouldn’t move, frozen as they turned from red to nearly black, while her steps to where Qrow guided her were automatic. Pins and needles started to spread to her shoulder, up her neck. Raven suddenly wanted nothing more than to sleep. Her arm felt numb - her whole body felt numb, and the tired feeling spread just as fast - but the smell started to hit her once they reached the castle grounds. 

Blood roared in Raven’s ears, but she still heard the sharp _what did you do?_ from the Falke guarding the back gate. Raven’s eyes focused away from her burns to the environment once again - and the eyes on her. “Get off me.” She ordered Qrow between clenched teeth. 

“Raven, I-“

“Off,” She tensed even tighter than she was, her uninjured arm shoving at Qrow. He took a few steps back, Raven clutched at her arm. She would already need help, having Qrow drag her to see the mender would not help. She swallowed the sickening feeling that the smell gave her, trying to keep her vision from spinning. Raven ignored the tribesmen staring at her, straightened her back, and marched through the castle. 

* * *

Lessa didn’t look up at Qrow when he pushed his way into the library. 

His hands still shook, heart pounded like he had sprinted here rather than stumbled. He felt as if he could still smell the skin from Raven’s arm, the burnet flesh and bubbling blisters that followed after he felt his semblance flare. Qrow stood at the entryway of the library, before the step down where the lines of shelves begin. He waited for Lessa to yell for him to leave, or throw a book like usual. 

“Whatever you did,” instead the old woman looked up from her pages, looking almost bored at his shock. “Does anyone know it was you?”

Qrow frowned, finding his mouth too dry to answer. Raven shoved him off as soon Falkes started getting curious, making a beeline for the healer’s ward. No one spared a glance at him after they saw her arm, Qrow hadn’t given them the chance to. He shook his head and licked his lips. “I don’t think so.” 

His great aunt shrugged, gesturing to the shelves. “You better start acting normal then. As much as you can.” 

The taunt didn’t get through to him, Qrow only nodded. The step down in the library felt longer, his feet carried him through the shelves without thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because the twins are still very much petty children, but like everything on Remnant, pettiness can be overdone very quickly.  
> Thank you so much for reading, and comments are very very encouraging!


	3. Desires for Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the patience! This chapter is a bit longer, so please enjoy!

“Inside each of us are memories, fantasies and desires for home - a shelter waiting to be built, a place of peace to be revisited.” -―  **Louisa Thomsen Brits**

* * *

“There were four travelers starting trouble at the toll, all taken care of. Said they were heading to a new settlement west of here. I sent Fhon and a few others to...introduce themselves.” The bookkeeper glanced towards Raven again at the end of his report. 

Kastrel shrugged from his spot at the head of the table. “Let them know the deal, the usual tribute required, give them time to think it over.”

Raven couldn’t stop drumming the fingers of her left hand on the table, no matter how much it disturbed the older tribesman. The bookkeeper kept glancing glares Raven’s way, probably more annoyed that a child was sat at the same table as his chief rather than how murderous Raven’s look was. 

She was just bored, really. Kastrel kept his tribe in order, and wanted to know everything for himself. Including stock of food, village reports, perimeter reports, births and deaths, toll earnings, everything that made Raven want to pull her hair out. Qrow was definitely going to have to sit through this in her place when she’s Chief. 

Though, with her right hand wrapped up tight with bandages up to her elbow, useless for holding a sword, she was starting to doubt that would ever happen. 

She hasn’t seen Qrow since she’s burned herself, though it wouldn’t be the first time she’s snapped at him and he took it to heart. She’s been sloppily trying to adjust to her odachi with her left hand, to varying degrees of failure - off in the woods where no one could see her frustration take form. Raven hadn’t wanted to admit it, but it would be easier with Qrow around. At the very least, as a sparring partner that could keep his mouth shut. 

Instead she’s been subjected to trailing her uncle, and experiencing the more boring parts of leading. A thunderstorm that has lasted for days as fall rears its head has everyone milling about the castle - and effectively trapped her inside.

“How are the leaves looking?” Kastrel said back, his hands behind his head, as the man finished his report. Raven rolled her eyes. 

“Starting to fall the more north you get. Cold’s bound to catch us too.” 

“Earlier than expected.” Kastrel glanced to Raven, she didn’t bother changing her expression. He wanted her to be nervous, of course she was - being forced to go into her Vinteren possibly with one hand behind her back - but she wouldn’t let him know that. She leaned back instead, hiding her wrapped arm under the table. 

Their bookkeeper leaned back on his heels. “Reserves should get us through the season. Gyron village and Keepo have had good harvests if needed.”

“I’d rather not test them, they’ve been loyal. Make sure the hunters aren’t shite, and I won’t worry about winter.” 

Raven resisted the loud sigh that crept in her throat. If the Falkes didn’t stay put, they wouldn’t have to worry about food. Villages always seem to pop up this far north, but the Branwens have always simply gone where they needed, taken what they wanted. Here, they planned ahead, had to sacrifice some things to keep villages providing.

“You on the other hand,” Kastrel’s voice from behind her made Raven straighten her back, and look up from the splinter she was picking at. “Should at least be concerned for what’s coming.” 

Raven slouched again, crossing her arms - careful to lie the bandaged one over the other. “I’m figuring it out.” She shrugged a shoulder. “It’d be easier if I knew what my Trial was.” 

“Since when did we start doing that?” Kastrel scoffed, not even giving her an inch. 

She wouldn’t pout about it, it was the same for everyone, every trial. When she had to figure out how to survive a week on her own at ten, no one expected any less of her. The same went for now. Any real warrior wouldn’t fret over specifics. A wind blew in from the high window of the hall - the storm had started up again. Raven could hear the pounding of rain on the stone soon after. She let that fill the silence between them instead of her words. 

“Find someone to train you, or don’t.” Kastrel got up from his chair, rolling a should before making his way to the exit of the hall. “Destiny’s got it all figured out anyway. Nothin’ you can do about it.”

Raven frowned, but watched him walk away in silence. She hated how he was right, and had to resist squeezing a hand over her wrist. 

She’d been methodical -  _ obsessed - _ with healing her hand as quickly as possible. Raven dealt with the telling bandages, the awful alcohol soaks, the Falkes’ mender who thought entirely too highly of himself. 

If she were still around Branwens, she might not have stifled her pride too much. She was supposed to lead them, eventually, she couldn’t whine and fret over an injury. Here, she just had to get through winter and get out - whatever they wanted to remember about Raven wouldn’t matter when she was on top. 

Even still - Qrow had been avoiding her. Or maybe she was avoiding him, she couldn’t remember who started it. He wouldn’t be seen helping her, not even in private. Raven’s spent more than a few nights wondering if it would be this way forever. All it took was one mistake and her brother - Qrow of all people - wouldn’t speak a word to her. Confusion was quickly turning to anger when she thought of him. 

Raven shook her head, finally pushing from the table, and the thought from her mind. Her Vinteren would just be that much harder, but she would take it. She was a Branwen, she’s faced, and probably will face, much worse. Grimm that didn’t think or feel anything but the need to kill, horrific monsters older than time - she can cut down with ease. She can handle a clumsy hand for a few months. Raven didn’t have a choice. 

* * *

Qrow could not begin to guess what was happening the floor above him. Dust periodically would shower down from a crack in the ceiling, the library’s single window allowing moonlight to shine in just the right place to let him see it every time. With the leaves mostly fallen off of every tree in Elbeuf’s forest, it was only brighter in the room for it. 

If he thought about it too much - which he had been doing instead of the book in front of him - the ceiling could cave in on him. The stones would crack and whatever weight was on the floor above him would fall through, leaving dust and stone and blood, maybe even reach the floor below him as well. Even so, he stayed put against the desk he was sat at, staring at the crack in the ceiling and not even budging when it spewed out dust particles again. His semblance remained quiet. 

When he thought about it, it didn’t come. Or, at least that was the pattern he saw. Since Elbeuf he thought he felt different - it was different in a way, different from riding in the back of the caravan to keep his eyes on horse hooves and cracks in the ground, faulty wheels on wagons and sick stragglers in the back. Staying in one place had its benefits, no one at Elbeuf really got left behind. And no one fell behind because Qrow couldn’t control himself. 

Or he thought so, at least until Raven burned half the skin off her arm. 

He saw her struggling once, way out into the woods before it had grown too cold, and then decided it wasn’t worth it to stick around her - to make something else go terribly wrong. Whether Raven knew it or not, it was Qrow’s fault. If she couldn’t heal before winter, it would be his fault. If she failed her trial, it would be his fault. His tribe would be without their next chief, their grip on Anima’s bandit alliance would crumble and they’d be back to killing each other for the chance of food - and it would be his fault. 

Not for the first time, Qrow thought the tribe would be better off without him. 

From the broken-legged horses, to splintered wheels on wagons, to disease that would wipe out ten at a time. Qrow’s always felt his semblance and had to hold his breath. His father knew misfortune followed them since Qrow came around, the other Branwens too. There was no other reason to call him by the name he had, it was a matter of time before Raven saw his burden as it was and treated him like she should. 

Qrow felt cold sink into his bones, familiar shame creep up through him until he felt as if he were being crushed. Every instance of his weakness that ended with his family suffering ran through his head like a list, one he’d memorized long ago. Shame hit his stomach, then up to his lungs, seizing like a real force. He couldn’t call upon his aura, the risk of the ceiling caving in became real again. 

Qrow pushed against the desk, to hit feet until he was in front of the fire. “Aye!” He didn’t realize he’d thrown books into the flame until he heard Lessa shout behind him. 

“None of this is helping me!” Qrow snapped back at her, turning to tower over the old woman. “All of this is old shit! Names and places and battles and shit that’s done with! You say it’s who I am, or supposed to be, or something that doesn’t matter anyway!”

“It does matter.” Lessa wasn’t phased by his shouting, just ground her teeth and bent her neck up to look him in the eye. “Names of your family. What they did. What it meant. How it still matters now. This is all what you should’ve known long before now. Would’ve shaped you.” 

“Would have.” Qrow dug his fingers into his hair, shaking his head. 

“Could still.” Lessa held up a finger. “You’re no Chief, even if your sister does manage to get herself torn apart by Grimm or worse. Qrow.  _ Qrow.  _ You think they named you that because you're worthy of something?” She swiped at him, Qrow was still in control just enough to take a step back and keep his fists at his sides. “You see Kastrel having any children?” 

Qrow shook his head, backing up again. He wasn’t a Falke, even if he wanted to be - even if the Falkes wanted him to be. The Branwens were his family, the ones who provided and protected - and fought to be on top. Qrow turning to another Tribe wouldn’t be strategic, it’d be betrayal. Alliance or not. How much he knew about their history, or not. 

“I’m not leaving Raven.” His voice was steady, surprising even him. 

“Your mother left your uncle.” 

“And look where it got her.” Qrow felt his heart hammering against his chest, he almost thought Lessa could hear it too. 

“She did it wrong.” 

Qrow scoffed. “And this is doing it right.” 

“I don’t know.” Lessa lowered her voice. “Kastrel’s not going anywhere. And if you want, wait for me to hobble off into the woods and die like I’m supposed to. Forget everything I say. Watch your mother’s tribe die out with it. You want to think you’re nothing? Fine. But don’t pout when you wake up hating that you’re second, with no one and nowhere to go.” 

* * *

Raven let out a deep breath when she flexed her hand, opening and closing as Roo instructed. Her fingers did their job, though it felt tight. Like there were strings inside of her, barely long enough to wrap around her bones when she moved them, and a tight glove over her skin. 

“Looks better,” Roo nodded his head, taking Raven’s hand in his and spread her fingers. He poked at the more solid parts of Raven’s skin. There were patches that looked nearly healed - though redder than the rest of her skin - some were thinner, still bright red and peeling. Raven had to keep herself from picking at the flaming skin with her uninjured fingers. She trained herself out of that habit, adding it the long list of many others. 

Roo had seen her almost every day. Alcohol soaks, herb wraps, and some kind of jelly Raven couldn’t even think of what it was made of made up her own hell. She’d done it without complaint. 

“Feels better.” Raven agreed, curling and uncurling a fist again. It wasn’t a lie, not like the first time Roo had checked on her wound and caught her fronting immediately. A well-placed slap to Raven’s burns had her tearing up, the mender telling her that he was the only one not worth lying to if she wanted to actually heal. Raven listened. “Still tight. And numb.” 

“You’ll hold a sword.” Roo assured without being asked. Raven hated how easily her worries were perceived by this man. “Take a while to get all your dexterity back, and have a good amount of scarring, but you can’t get any worse. If you’re not stupid.” 

Raven hummed, unamused. “I need it better by winter.” She needed it perfect by winter. Her semblance and left hand had improved immensely, she hasn’t just been sitting around doing nothing, but it was shameful to walk into Vinteren with one arm basically tied behind her back.

“Have all the leaves fallen? Have the snows come?” Roo shrugged a shoulder, gesturing wildly to the slit of a window in his chambers. “You have time. You’re lucky I got to it before disease did. You’d be far worse.”

“Or dead.” Raven muttered under her breath once Roo turned his back. She was not ignorant of the consequences of an open wound, her father made sure of that. There was nothing weak in protecting yourself. Nature was sometimes the greatest enemy, with nature came illness. The lessons surely stuck in her mind. 

Raven still had dreams of watching Qrow being leeched, the blood suckers surrounding a wound he received when they were just children, young enough to be adjusting to their names. 

They’d been playing among the caravan. Staying out of everyone’s way like they were told, but close to the edge of the path, a ravine that became increasingly steep. Qrow had tripped - shoved, really, but she didn’t mean to do it that hard, she hadn’t known he would fall - and slid off the path. Fast, as it was muddy and steep, he stopped only when he’d clung to a skinny little tree, one leg getting carved open from a rock’s edge. 

Avani didn’t even stop their caravan when Raven ran to tell him. The chief had slid down the side of the ravine with careful effort, and wiped the tears from his son’s face before pulling them up and out. It looked easier when her father did it, he was grown after all. 

Qrow said he was fine, thought the wound wasn’t deep. Within a week, his leg had swelled. the lesion had turned black, and her brother into someone else. A feverish, sluggish husk that only moved to breathe. Remedy after remedy was tried, the leeches being the worst in her memory. Black, slimy worms that lived to suck blood and pus and everything horrible. It reminded her of Grimm, and made her shiver even today. 

Raven would take a strict mender such as Roo, and adhering to his strict healing methods, over something like that any day. Even if it meant treading carefully around an injury, letting everyone know how much it affected her. It would be worth it, if it meant scraping by in her Trial. 

* * *

“You seem to like being alone.” Kastrel voice from behind almost made Qrow jump. If he hadn’t had his arm wrapped over the spike of the broken merlon between his legs, he may have jumped right off the castle wall altogether. Qrow watched his uncle make himself comfortable beside him, though Qrow kept glancing to the shaky stones beneath him, ready to fall loose and have him slide off the edge. That, or there was frost he could not see and Kastrel was already at risk of slipping off. “That, or you think too much for your age. Or Lessa’s filling your head with too much. Or, am I just wrong?” 

Qrow’s lack of an answer prompted his uncle to keep going. Something he liked about him. Avani never filled silences unless he had to. If Qrow was asked a question, he better find a response. Kastrel offered him options, or sometimes didn’t expect him to answer at all. Still, now, Qrow wrung his hands together over the spike, keeping his eyes on the tree line. Between the miles of pine, there were sparks of red and yellow and orange, that last of the leaves waiting to fall as frost took over the land. He stayed quiet, resting his chin on the merlon. A wind blew and leaves scattered from the parapet. 

“Lessa told me we were supposed to stay here. Not with the rest of the Branwens.” He left out her other insinuation. Kastrel relaxed his shoulders, Qrow thought he might have heard him sigh, but Kas only nodded for him to keep going. “Is that real?” 

Qrow watched his uncle from the corner of his eye, quickly darting his gaze back to the trees when Kastrel looked to him. “I don’t know what Qhoren wanted.” He let out a heavy sigh. “No was truly happy when she ran off with your Da and his Tribe, least of all our elders. Maybe then, I wasn’t either. But she was right, came back a conqueror.” He shrugged a shoulder, leaning back on his hands. “I don’t know it she wanted anybody but herself looking after you two. But Avani’s who she chose to be with, she saw something that might not be there anymore, but what’s done is done. And maybe that’s what’s meant to be.” 

Qrow sighed, tugging close on the merlon like one would give a hug. “Yeah.” 

Kastrel shifted, with a cock of his head, and nudged Qrow’s leg with his knee. “Why’s that on your mind?”

The question made him frown, he didn’t expect them to keep talking. Qrow pulled at a loose pebble in the cracked merlon, trying to find the right words. He thought of saying how Raven’s skin bubbling up in red welts from an ‘accidental’ shock from her own sword kept showing up in his dreams. He hadn’t seen her since, but had heard her arm was better, going to be fine. Didn’t mean he could let it happen again. Or anything else, to anyone else. He couldn’t stop thinking that it might not have happened at all if he hadn’t had this semblance, if it hadn’t been shaped like it was. 

He also couldn’t stop thinking about how the hell Lessa wants him to lead her people when he can’t even control himself. 

Qrow spoke slowly, Kastrel didn’t rush him. “Bad things, always happened around me. Little things. And big things. People get sick, things catch on fire. I didn’t know why, but I always thought it was because of me. I knew it was because of me.” He shifted his eyes to watch Kastrel, expecting a roll of his eyes, but his uncle just watched the trees blow with the autumn wind. “I get a feeling, sometimes, in my back. It’s just there, and something happens, and it goes away again. Sometimes it wakes me up, and the tent will fall, a fire will die, or something worse. Sometimes I don’t know what happened until the morning. And I know it’s me. I know it’s me. I  _ know  _ I’m doing it, I just don’t know how to...do it.” 

Qrow shifted on his perch. Kastrel was quiet for awhile, then tapped the toes of his boots together. “Never heard of any semblance like that,” he sighed. “Do you think that’s it?”

Qrow picked at the pebble stuck in the ruin again. “I don’t know. Well, yeah, I think I do know.” 

He waited for the scold to make up his mind. It didn’t come. “When did it start? The-“ he tapped the middle of Qrow’s back, he didn’t mention it was higher. 

He swallowed. “I don’t remember. I feel like it’s always been there.”

Kastrel hummed. “I’m not the scholarly type, this is nothin’ I’ve ever heard of anyway. Anyone else know?” 

“My da. He said I would grow stronger, learn it on my own. But,” Qrow shrugged. “And Raven, but she didn’t believe me for a long time.” He sighed again. “I don’t really know if she does now.” 

A silence lapped between them again. A chill brushed against Qrow’s spine, making him shiver. His eyes strayed to the loose stones under his uncle again. Kastrel shifted after a few moments, shrugging his shoulders. “Your semblance protects you. Everyone’s does, in some way.”

“But-”

“Qrow,” Kas lifted himself from the edge, brushing some flakes of snow from his pants. “You keep thinking that curse nonsense, and it’ll be true. Whether you are Branwen or Falke, or neither. Your semblance is part of you, the most important part.” 

Qrow couldn’t help but think that was the root of all of his problems. The cause of anything painful. Kastrel clicked his tongue, his eyes looked far off into the woods. 

“Be afraid of it and you won’t last long.” 

* * *

Raven backed up away from the swing, hearing the wind as the blade just missed her. 

“Good,” Varen nodded, but kept her pursuit. She was a large woman, one of the tribesmen Raven’s father left to look after things, and made for a good distraction. Raven matched her attacks, dodged when appropriate, blocked when needed, went through the motions to finish their spar as if it was boring. Her right hand was just strong enough to keep a grip on the sword, Raven convinced herself she wasn’t holding back just because of her healing burns. 

Varen didn’t seem to notice, or care, Raven was fast enough to give her a workout just by chasing her around the ring. All she had to do was toss her a sword and they’d go a few rounds in the snowy field outside of Elbeuf. It wasn’t too unlike, when Raven was younger and needed practice. It was nice to have at least one person she  _ knew _ around here. 

Varen just skimmed her arm with her blade, Raven rolled to the side, brushing away snow. She brought her odachi up just in time to block her swing, but ended up stuck on her knees as Varen swung again for her side. The block was awkward, but was enough for Raven to jump to her feet. Raven retreated back again, dodging by keeping her feet light, making her chase him again. 

“Arms up,” she warned, Raven brought her sword to stay in front of herself again. Any other time she wouldn’t have to be reminded, but this whole match she’d been passive. She hasn’t given more than four strikes, reverting to instinctive dodging rather than pursue her. 

A close swing from Varen’s blade made her jerk back, stumbling. Raven scrambled for her balance and to keep grip on her odachi, but was too late to get out of the way of Varen’s fist. She fell to the side, holding her jaw that suffered the punch, and felt her leg go limp beneath her. On her knees again, Varen easily met the swing of odachi, pushing back enough to throw the sword from Raven’s grip. 

Her skin screamed as it twisted, the healing flesh forced to relinquish her hold on the handle to stop the pain. Raven scrambled back to gain ground, but Varen’s sword was against her neck in an instant. 

When Raven met her eyes, Varen frowned down at her. “What’s wrong with you?” 

Raven pushed the blade away. “I’ve been forced to sit around for months!”

“Who’s fault is that?” Varen scoffed, and sheathed her sword at her hip. Raven stood to face her, and stop her from turning away. 

”Ask Qrow, he’s the one who acts like a hit dog anytime I look at him.”

“Word is he was the one dragging you to help.”

“And hasn’t done anything for me since.” She didn’t mention the restless nights she’s spent wondering if it would always be like that between them now. They used to be inseparable, now she’s so helpless her own brother won’t look at her. “My Vinteren’s in days, and I can’t do anything to catch up! You can’t help me, and no Falkes will even bother to train me, and I’m stuck in this castle ever since the snow started to fall.” 

Varen rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t like staying in one spot as much as you do, but it’s not the castle you hate.” 

Raven resisted groaning aloud, instead threading her fingers into her hair. She curled her hands, the right still pulling and she almost screamed. Varen was right, the people here set her off more than the monotonous look of Elbeuf. Avani has told her they owed her no respect, but now Raven would rather be disrespected than ignored. She could relish in an act of defiance, a doubtful look to disprove, a face to be spat in. But it was like she was still seen as a child, as someone else’s problem. The Branwens at least knew she was capable, they spoke with her, ate with her, sparred with her. The Falkes, besides her uncle’s watchful eye, didn’t spare her a glance. 

“You don’t need to like them.” Varen scoffed, shoving Raven by the shoulder. “You think they fucking like us here? Eating their meat and takin’ up their beds? Whether you pass or not, they won’t like you. Do what you need to and move on. Forget about them.” 

Raven sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. Her sheath swung behind her as they walked back to the castle. They reached an outer wall, passing through the gate. Light snow started falling from the sky. “You think I can act like this never happened?” She raised a brow at the older woman, making her bark a laugh. 

“I can’t promise I won’t tell  _ anyone _ what a fool you act like with one hand.” 

“It’s not really that bad, is it?” A chill ran down Raven’s spine at her Uncle’s voice as he rounded the corner of the castle wall. “You still have a hand.” 

Varen stepped forward, stopping before she would be between Raven and Kastrel. “Can’t imagine how bored she’s been.” 

“Well,” Kastrel cocked his head, Raven had to bite her lip when he had to look up at Varen to meet her eyes. Raven realized she was the same height as her uncle. “I’m sure you’ve noticed how we can entertain ourselves here without being wasteful. But,” he looked between them, and leaned back on his heels. “If you are so bored, come raiding.” 

Raven immediately felt her heart speed up.

“New place out west think they don’t owe us anything.” Kastrel nodded to Raven. “You don’t want to sit around? You teach them something.” 

Two men brushed past them to head to the stables holding the horses, more followed with weapons. Raven whipped her head to follow them, counting as they moved past. If she was going, she was going now. Raven looked to Varen, frown hard on the Branwens face. “She hasn’t passed her Vinteren.” 

Kastrel shrugged, throwing his arms out. “You’re planning on forgetting everything that happened here, what does it matter?” He slapped a hand on Varen’s shoulder, the other wrapping around his sword. 

He winked at Raven. any annoyance she had at the action was extinguished by excitement. 

* * *

The fires raged against the snow, falling in sheets over the village as it burned. One of Mistral’s, outside of their borders, which meant no reason was needed to take it, no mercy was given. 

Raven adjusted her grip on her blade, burned hand holding up well enough, though she still felt a pull. She saw Varen cut down a man as soon as they entered the gates, taking on the few heavy lifters of the village that might fight back. Kastrel let her run wild as soon as they arrived, she was treated as any other tribesmen, completely on her own. The rush of energy she felt in her veins was enough for her to dismiss being ignored. 

She’d witnessed a raid before, but only from the outside, protected by her father or one of his trusted men. For as fast and chaotic as their raids might be, there were always predictable beats. People would try to save their homes, realize it was useless, then try to save themselves. If they weren’t struck down, they would hide. Then the real rush began. 

Now Raven could feel it for herself. That spiked feeling everyone talks about. The blood roaring in her ears and a heat that came from the inside, not the flames around them. Raven felt as if her lungs were coated with something, something that made each breath feel bigger and her throat felt as if it were tearing trying to keep up. Her heart matched pace with her feet as she sprinted through the village. 

Raven sprinted through homes, racing smoke and death to find loot. Jewelry, dust, metals, lien, anything she could fit in the sack at her hip. She found herself grabbing anything that remotely shined in the dull light, she’ll let kids forced to take stock figure out what to do with it. 

The home she had her eye on, she had to sprint to reach it before some Falke she didn’t know reached it first. Raven let her momentum crash her through the door, brushing off the ache she immediately felt in her shoulder. She felt her head rush from escaping the fiery smoke into the dark home, but the adrenaline that kept her heart roaring pushed her forward. 

The kitchen was closest - she left the silverware and dishes for the scavenges tomorrow - instead grabbing a large cutting knife and a ring that was placed on the windowsill. The cabinets showed nothing, Raven bounced on her feet as she heard yelling outside - and a thump upstairs. 

Despite herself, her feet pushed her to the second floor, the dark hall filling with smoke from outside, pouring in from the window at the end of the hall. The first room was locked, Raven quickly moved to the second. A simple bedroom, the mattress hid a bundle of Lien and the drawers hid another necklace. The sack at her side was getting heavy, and noisy. 

Her steps must have been heavier, Raven almost tripped over her own feet at the sight of a man standing in the hall. She froze, burned hand wrapped around her odachi’s hilt - but he didn’t move. Raven heard him breathing, wavering and obviously scared, and felt her heart race. 

The instant he moved, Raven knew she was quicker. He stepped forward and Raven lunged, swiping across his belly with a squelch that made him shout. As he turned she twisted past him from behind, spinning to keep her momentum and thrust her sword through his back. The odachi was back in her sheath as a reflex before he even hit the ground. 

The world seemed to go silent, the blood pooled from underneath the man slowly. Raven heard her own breath, her blood in her ears and her heart as if it were in her throat. A man a foot taller than her was not a threat, no one in this village was. She wasn’t even grown and nothing could stop her. The realization felt like electricity - pulsing through her muscles and into her bones, a feeling like giddiness made her breath hitch. When she flexed her hand she couldn’t even feel a pull, only the one from the smile across her face. 

She’s fought before, but as Raven raced back into the chaos of the village, a new confidence took over her. The others running around the village were no more of an obstacle than a deer in her path. She was born into this, she was born for this. With her hand at only half its skill she still soared above the rest. Not the killing, but the dominating, knowing she could cut through anything in her path. 

The feeling flooded her, sparked and energy she couldn’t describe. Raven found the edge of the village, heard the howling of Grimm read to tear what was left of it apart. The other tribesmen stampeded away, taking their goods and leaving the rest to be found later. 

Through the rush of bandits, Raven’s eyes met Kastrel’s. The golden amber of his eyes looked more like a stark yellow against the fire. She saw him nod to her. If only for a moment - his toothy grin was the only thing that made her blood cool. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting a little bit more intense! Please let me know what you think, comments are always very appreciated!! :) :)


End file.
